I did this thing. It’s an intensive art/ movement/ talk therapy thing for women who have been sexually assaulted. I did this thing. Emphasis on the I. I didn’t consult anyone before I did it. I didn’t ask God for his opinion. I said to myself I’m going to do this thing and I’m going fast track my recovery and I messed up…
To top it off I got physically sick around the end and now I’m sitting here … pale, ten whole pounds lighter. I’ve missed work. I’ve missed school. Just two days of work and school but still. That’s enough to start a spiral of negative thinking and start digging a grave for my dreams.Cuz that’s what I do. I dig graves for dreams.
There’s alot people don’t know about dreams. But yes they do fester like a sore. I wanted to be concert pianist. I played the piano from the time I was five. And I was really good. Until at fourteen a teacher berated me and got me to give it up. But I didn’t give it up completely because I joined my high school band. After vowing I would never touch piano, I picked up the flute and I was brilliant. It was odd because I had severe asthma and the band director wasn’t sure I should play it but I saw it and I said nope. I’m going to play that. And I was really good. Until I was assaulted. A gang member assaulted me and promised me more harm to my person if they were to ever catch me alone. But I was always alone especially on my way home after ten pm from band practice. I quit band the next day. It was as simple as that. I was constantly talking about how I couldn’t wait to be a senior so I could be drum majorette. I finally got the opportunity and I couldn’t.
I then took up art fervently. I don’t think the art teacher ever saw that kind of devotion before. She thought maybe I should go to art school. I graduated with a strong portfolio that I sold off within the two weeks after graduating. I said no. I’d already reached my quota on dreams. In the background of all this, alot of not-good things are happening. Quite simply, I didn’t want to go to college. What would be the point? My high school counselor locked me in her office to make me fill out something. Out of spite, I filled out the Harvard Spring Application and the NYU fall application. Surely I wouldn’t get in. And I did. On both counts.
And that resurrected hope… which died when my friend Jerry died in a gang shooting on my second day of class. I wanted to be an author. I wanted to be an editor. Those are buried in the graveyard now. And I’m really good at editing. I edited someone’s work and he said he’s never seen an editor examine the intent behind words and their usage like that before. But being talented doesn’t feed people.
So I’ve come to the end of myself and I’ve found that being broken, being absolutely physically and emotionally sick doesn’t make me less christian. Somehow it makes me more. I’ve come under some scrutiny for having so few desires, for not wanting things. But I’m all tapped out.
However, I serve a God with unlimited resources. In my twelve step recovery book there’s a passage that says “when the hand of God seemed heavy or even unjust, new lessons for living were learned, new resources of courage were uncovered, and that finally, inescapably, the conviction came that God does ‘move in a mysterious way His wonders to perform.’”
I read this paragraph a lot. I’m waiting for new resources of courage to be uncovered and to see his wonders.